Good Enough
by Volitional
Summary: Inspired by and written to "Good Enough" by Evanescence. This was really just a one-shot/drabble that I spontaneously decided to let out. It reveals a more feminine and vulnerable side to Integra that most/none ever see. You always read about her being a woman of "Ice and Steel"; but she's so much more than that. So I decided to capture her the way I would/could in such a moment.


A number of outfits lay, splayed across the heir's bed. One of which was the suit she wore day in and day out. Others were less professional, more casual but none of them caught her attention. They all said the same things; and for once, Integra wanted to be a woman. She wanted to feel _beautiful_; to feel _elegant_ and perhaps even a little _fragile_. The suit-coat she wore this evening had already been discarded along with her pants, socks and ascot. Now she worked on carefully and slowly freeing her hands of the gloves that went with it all. An almost serene look graced the woman's features, causing her to look less severe. Blue orbs lacked the usual winter edge that usually intimidated those they fixed upon. Evening gowns hung now in the wardrobe that had been practically picked apart and stripped bare; not unlike their keeper. Integra stood before them with only her crisp, white shirt to cover her underwear. They were perhaps, the only feminine attributes the knight ever donned. Both were simple, black and with only a touch of lace. Not that anyone knew.

Finally coming to a decision, gentle fingers plucked a gown from its place and held it up to her form. The fabric was dark — dark enough to trick the eye. Depending on how the light played off of the dress it could pass for the color of the night sky, or a deep and rich blue. The length was shorter in front, rising a few inches before her knees while the back splayed out with a short train to follow. All of it was carefully pieced together in layers that practically demanded the watcher's attention. She set it over the piles of clothes and began unbuttoning her shirt. With each slip of plastic from the tiny fabric holes, her heart jumped. When was the last time she had donned such raiment? The last one was free, and it whispered off her shoulders to fall behind her heels. Her fingers ghosted over the gown, wondering if she was even allowed to wear it. Of course she was, it was he after all. But Hellsing's director rarely ventured from her suits or slacks. Would this be wrong of her? It felt as though she were shedding her skin and slipping into a costume; into the life she had always been curious of. It was like slipping into icy water after running a high fever. Gooseflesh rose and her hand retreated to wrap both arms around herself. As if scolded, the Englishwoman averted her gaze and frowned.

It took her a few moments to recompose herself. Disregarding how foreign the dress felt against her skin and the way it exposed too much flesh for her liking, Integra finished zipping it up. A perfect fit unlike any other. Though she couldn't recall ever wearing it, the fabric held and hugged her form. Even a pair of stilettos had been adorned for the evening. She dared to glance in one of the mirrors, wondering who it was the reflection revealed. Surely the woman before her was not the Integra everyone knew.

Taking her time, the blonde slowly gathered her hair and piled it delicately on her head. Her free hand reached for a set of silver, ornate chopsticks to hold the tresses in place. Only a few thin locks had escaped to frame either side of the noble's face. A hesitant hand then gingerly picked up a thin silver and crystal necklace to clasp it around her neck. From there it hung gently, coolly just over her collarbone. Still, the reflection before her seemed so surreal; so unfamiliar that she had to reach out and touch the glass. Hellsing's strong and fierce leader now looked nothing more than an uncertain lady with no knowledge of where to go or how to behave.

Bowing her head Integra relinquished a sigh and fell to perch lightly upon a small stool. It sat before a vanity; a vanity rarely used. A fresh white rose sat idle, waiting to wilt and die in a thin vase. Fingertips moved to caress the petals, soft hues admiring its beauty and strength alike. The thorns had not been cut; and for a moment the heiress seemed to think of herself as that flower. Strong and fragile all at once — only, she never outwardly succumbed to showing such. An alluring fragrance fell from the plant and spread only enough to linger near the vanity. Before long, Integra had brought it to her face, inhaling its scent. The only thing that broke her from her trance was a pinprick of pain. Bringing her hand away she caught sight of a small drop that started to swell. After hesitating a moment, she brushed her finger along one of the pristine petals. White now stained red at its edges before dropping it behind her.

For what reason had she dressed so beautifully? For what reason other than to quell the impulses to do so? What exactly had she hoped to achieve? Integra was a woman of ice and steel; cold, detached, driven, strict and fierce.

Just one night, just one night even if only for a few moments — Integra wanted to feel warm. She wanted to dress, to act, to feel like and be a woman. The only thoughts that plagued her mind at this moment, were those telling her how foolish and how childish such petty desires were. She had dressed for nothing; all of it done in vain.

A woman cold as ice melted but for a night, waiting for a love bittersweet that would never come. All for a chance at light in a life shrouded by darkness, to wash away the stains on her gloves and forget who she was supposed to be. She wanted to feel _good enough_; rather than strong enough.


End file.
